Cocoa & Humbugs
by cynicismandrainbows
Summary: A divergence from canon to indulge my two headcanons: that Barbara and Delia share a room and become friends at Nonnatus, and that, like Barbara, Delia also has a huge sweet-tooth. Slight Pupcake.
The first evening is a bit of a blur, when she tries to look back on it later. The finishing of the meal, and the conversation drifting off into other topics. Delia knows she said things and answered questions and smiled a good deal….but she can't at all remember what was said, or to whom.

The deciding of whether to go back to Wales- interestingly, her mother barely participates.

It is Sister Winifred who suggests she collects the rest of her clothing, her personal things that haven't made it to Hornsley, so that she will be more comfortable, and it is Sister Julienne who calmly (is there anything is woman does not do calmly, Delia wondered? She just seems to _radiate_ peace and placidity) replies that surely there is no real need to delay the moving in, since Delia already HAS clothes with her in London, and has no need of a uniform. _Yet._

She ventures that she is sure the younger midwives would be happy to help Delia out if she needed to borrow something urgently, and she seems to be looking at Patsy when she says it. And there is a little titter of laughter round the table.

Delia feels her stiffen beside her for a second- before she, a moment later, realises what Sister Julienne means: not an attempt to out them (as if Sister Julienne would ever do so in such a way, as if anyone would ever react by LAUGHING) but a mild poking-of-fun at their respective height differences.

In her mind, she reaches out and squeezes Patsy's hand, offers silent comfort….while her real hands stay folded demurely in her lap.

As they will have to do for the forseeable future, she realises suddenly.

Not that she's not grateful for the rescue- of course, of course she is….but it hadn't occurred to her until now how much holding back she's going to have to do.

Just like in the nurses home.

Except worse, because she can tell already that things are different at Nonnatus, people are closer. There was close friendship at the Nurses Home too of course (as she and Patsy can attest to) but the sterility of it all- the constant nudging against rules and regulations, the rigidity of how every day was scheduled- meant that closeness almost seemed to exist in spite of the environment.

Here, it's the opposite- just sitting around the table with everyone smiling and talking about their day in such good humour- Trixie hands Sister Evangelina a quiche and the older woman makes a show of deliberately placing a small slice on her plate and they both laugh, it must be some sort of inside joke, born of a thousand meals like this- well… it will be harder.

Much harder.

The bus back to Hornsey is excruciating. Mam veers between the odd barbed comment- _Never realised what a trial living with your Dad and I must've been, if you're willing to jump at the first place that will offer you houseroom_ and _I can't say I'll miss being at home again- where strangers don't jump in on family matters, unasked...but that's Catholics for you- Sister Julienne isn't Catholic, Mam- I think you've said more than enough for one evening, young lady-_ and icy silence.

Once they're inside, she gives Delia's aunt a thin lipped smile and asks where she put their suitcases when they unpacked.

'Delia will be needing hers'

It's a shock to Delia as well as to her aunt- she was going to be staying the night and moving to Nonnatus in the morning.

'She's got better places to be than with family, I'm sure. Moved up in the world she has.'

Her aunt is hovering, anxious- Delia has to speak over her mother to explain.

'They offered me a room at Nonnatus, Aunty. Where Patsy lives.'

It's dangerous, perhaps, to mention Patsy, but it's also easier than trying to NOT mention her: at the name she recognises, her aunt smiles.

'That'll be nice, for you to have a friend in London- won't it, Dillys? And there was I thinking you wouldn't be able to stay.'

Her mother returns with the suitcase- in a three room flat, there are a limited number of places it could be- and holds it out to Delia, who takes it out of habit.

'I'm not moving in until tomorrow, Mam-'

'Why wait? You were eager enough to be gone an hour ago.'

'I'm not- I'm not leaving you and Dad, it's just, I can't give up everything-'

'Everything, she calls it!'

Her mother is talking as if Delia isn't even there, a trick she's heard before from childhood scoldings- _Tearing her new dress like that, as if good fabric is easy to come by! Climbing a tree as if it were a boy she was!-_ but never with such coldness.

'I'm sure she didn't mean-'

'Her Dad, me, her home- we're nothing now, are we?'

'Mam, please- I still love you, but I need to work.'

'I see.'

There's a pause.

'Well go on, get packed.'

Delia takes a breath, about to argue- but she really doesn't have the energy for it anymore. The day- the buses, the meal at Nonnatus, the walking, the anxiety- has drained her, and her Mam was right, earlier- she DOES get tired.

Without meaning to, she allows herself to sag a little as she exhales- and then tenses. She truly didn't mean to betray how exhausted she felt, and she's afraid that doing so will lead to a renewed attack, a tirade as to why it's utter foolishness to think that she can fend for herself after so long.

But her mother observes her, gives a little tut of acknowledgement….and turns, goes into the tiny kitchen- the forcefulness with which she fills the kettle belies the casualness of her actions- without saying a word.

And Delia finds that this hurts even more.

There are impracticalities to late night ultimatums, Delia's mother discovers.

Dramatic evictions are difficult when the last bus has gone- and as hurt and angry as she is with her daughter, she isn't going to send her out into London-at-night to be robbed and murdered and kidnapped and catch her death of cold and goodness knows what else.

She waits, awkwardly, as she listens to her daughter pack her things into the suitcase that she had first brought her to take to London to begin her training (from Howells, navy blue, and shiny like new shoes, purchased by a friend of a cousin in Cardiff at her request: Delia had flung her arms around her when she had pulled off the wrapping paper with the exuberance that even the strictness of nurses training would not knock out of her) and knows, without going to check, that Delia won't be bothering to fold things properly and that she will later have to spend a good hour coaxing the stubborn creases out of her dresses and skirts.

She does not go to scold her daughter for her slapdash approach to packing.

She does, however, wonder which of them will be the first to say it, that it is late and there is no phone and how is Delia to get from Hornsey to Poplar by herself and surely she will need to stay after all ( _thank god that she won't be held to what she found herself doing and saying in the bitterness that comes with the immense sadness of losing a child for the second time)._

She goes back into the kitchen, does not notice the door opening and closing, and is surprised when Delia appears behind her, her hair a little windswept from being outside.

'I'm going now, Mam'

'What?'

'I'm packed'.

'You can't- are you planning on walking? Across London, on your own, at night?'

 _It's a question that echoes back through the years: Are you planning on leaving your dolls in the hedge, your bicycle in the rain, your textbooks on the floor, that we paid good money for? Are you planning on going to the garden when it's past your bedtime, to the dance you know I don't approve of when it's so late in the evening, to your fancy training course in London when I only have the one daughter and I'll miss you so very much?_

'Nurse Crane is coming to pick me up, Mam, in her car. I called Nonnatus from the public call box and she said it's no trouble. It's not that late anyway, it's not so far to Poplar'

Mrs Busby sags a little, at this- this knowledge that while she was thanking god that Delia wouldn't really leave yet because _of course_ she wouldn't actually throw her daughter out onto the streets, Delia obviously had no such certainty.

But by calling, by ensuring that she has someone to pick her up, someone to get her safely across London, and presumably more people waiting to greet her when she arrives, Delia has somehow….made things a little easier too: they can both pretend that what has just happened isn't so very bad, that her mother hasn't thrown her out of the flat, not really.

'Alright.'

'I'll write- later.'

'Good. I'm glad. Your dad will be happy to hear you're settling in.'

 _She doesn't mean it quite like that, she just wants to remind Delia that she has another parent who loves her, that she can't cut ties with the family fully yet, even after everything that has happened with her mother, she's still a Busby- but she can tell Delia is hurt._

'Alright.'

There's a pause, that in better times would be filled with a hug, with kisses. Now there's just the plink-plink-plink of the dripping tap, and cold empty air between them.

'Bye, Mam'

Delia says it uncertainly, and then turns quickly into the hall before her mother can reply.

There's the sound of the door opening, Delia hugging her aunt goodbye and a whispered 'I'll talk to her, cariad'.

Then the door closes.

The tap is still dripping.

The arrival is not what she imagined.

Nonnatus, for Delia, means Patsy. It's Patsy's home, Patsy's friends. They are all lovely- at least, she thinks she can remember everyone and she is sure that they are all lovely- but still. They are Patsy's friends.

And so it is a shock, really, when Patsy is not there to greet her after she and Nurse Crane arrive at Nonnatus after a largely silent car ride.

Delia manages a Thank you and a I'm really terribly grateful, Nurse Crane and most of a You must let me reimburse you for the petrol, before the older woman puts her hand on Delia's arm.

'You're very welcome, Nurse Busby. I'm not a nurse any more, not yet. But you will be, soon enough. And Nurse- don't be too troubled by all this. It'll blow over soon enough, you mark my words. It's the way, with mothers and daughters.'

'You haven't met my mother, Nurse Crane.'

'I've met enough mothers to know what I'm talking about. Age does have its compensations. Now-' Perhaps she could tell how much Delia's eyes were stinging suddenly- 'Barley sugar? _'_

Delia concentrates on the sweetness for the journey, that took her mind off the ache in her throat, and Nurse Crane hums contentedly as they made the journey back to Poplar in excellent time.

They arrive back to a much quieter Nonnatus than she had left.

A Nonnatus that is missing Patsy- her tie to these people, her tie to this house.

She has been called out, with Trixie- and has been out since before Delia called Sister Julienne, according to Nurse Crane- and Delia feels a little stab of panic- partly at the fact that she is now in a house of people who she has only a fairly tenuous link to, but mostly at how lost and unsure she feels.

 _Was this a terrible idea, to come to live among people I barely know and who barely know me?_

As she mounts the stairs with her bags to the room she is now to share with one of the younger midwives- she was introduced to her earlier in the day and she apparently had met her before the accident but she can't summon up a face to fit the name no matter how hard she tries- she feels painfully vulnerable, and she wonders if Mam was right after all.

She _does_ get tired, more than tired sometimes, and will she be able to keep up with things- with the strain of city living, the demands of making oneself amenable to near-strangers? Will they think she's rude if she forgets names, excuses herself to lie down instead of making polite conversation? Will they think she's inattentive if she loses the thread of conversations, stupid if she needs to ask for directions to be repeated? What if she has a fit- oh god, she hopes she doesn't fit…

Her thoughts are interrupted by Nurse Crane stopping at a door half way along the corridor- _Here we are. Home sweet home_ \- and pushing it open.

It's….alright. Non-threatening. Cream and pink coloured wallpaper, bedsteads covered with green quilts, and a Spanish dictionary on the shared bedside table, which Nurse Crane seizes triumphantly.

'I KNEW I'd forgotten something! And right under my nose, too!'

'Oh goodness-' Delia is suddenly seized with guilt. 'Am I- I'm so sorry, am I forcing you out of your bedroom?'

 _She hadn't realised she was causing trouble, causing unheaval like this-_

'Nurse Busby- you are doing me the kindness of allowing me to avail myself of a nice single room in which to practise my Spanish, and for that I shall not hesitate to thank you! Nor, I imagine, shall Nurse Gilbert!'

She nods towards the bed closest to the door.

'She should be up soon, so I shall let you get on with your unpacking in peace before it gets too crowded in here. I imagine you want a moment to gather your head a little.'

'Yes, it's all been rather…..well…..'

'I'm sure. But mind you don't fret now.'

She pauses, frame in the doorway.

'You've got pluck, Nurse- and things will come round, they always do.'

Delia sinks down onto the single bed and looks around her, taking in the neatly folded skirt on the chair waiting to be hemmed, the slightly-scuffed bible on the pillow of the bed, the photos on the dressing table, evidently from childhood: a tall thin man in the distinctive white collar, the neatly-coiffed, cardiganed woman beside him holding a baby, the pale girl with plaits and a slightly anxious smile standing between them.

She wonders if Nurse Gilbert minds having a new roommate foisted upon her, if she is perhaps resentful of the intrusion, annoyed that it was Nurse Crane and not she who is being given the single room.

Is she going to turn out to be one of those unbearably tidy people- Delia thinks guiltily about the doubtlessly creased dresses waiting in her suitcase- or will she find Delia simply irritating, or-

There's soft knock on the door- then it opens slowly to reveal a tray born by the girl in the faded photograph: many years older, many inches taller...but the same dark hair and the same hint of nervousness about her even as she smiles at Delia, wearing pajamas and a slightly-too-small dressing gown.

'Hello'

'Hello'

There's a pause, in which the newness of everything, a strange room and two girls strange to one another, seems to press in unbearably.

And then somehow they both break it at the same moment, in an embarrased rush, both at once-

'I hope you don't mind sharing a room with me'

And then- 'No!' 'Of course not!'

And it breaks the spell a little, and Delia finds that the knot of anxiety that has taken up residence somewhere behind her midriff has unclenched enough for her to laugh, a little, and Barbara does too.

'Look at us, we're both so terribly polite'

'Well, as I'm invading on your personal space, I have to be, don't I?'

She says it lightly, but Barbara shakes her head, all earnestness.

'Honestly, I don't mind a bit sharing a room with you! Actually, I rather-' She pauses, shuts off the train of whatever she was going to say. 'I just feel sorry for you having to come in with me- I'm sure you'd rather be with Patsy, wouldn't you?'

Delia's breath catches for a second- and then she relaxes again, hoping that Barbara hasn't picked up on it.

She's about to lie, to come out with a polite reply, _No of course not_ ….but finds, just before she actually says it, that she isn't lying as much as she thought it would be.

She wants to share with Patsy. Of course she does. But, sitting here and faced with this girl, who is so very conscious of being a second-best choice, so very sweet about admitting it and letting Delia admit it too…..Delia is touched. After spending the past six months becoming accustomed to being the second-best Delia (the post accident Delia), she feels a curious kinship with this girl, who seems so far to be nothing at all like the dreaded roommate of her recent imaginings.

'No- that is…. I'd like to be with Pats, of course. But… I'd like to be your roommate too, if you don't mind having me. It would be nice to have a friend here.'

'Oh, everyone will be your friend here!' Barbara immeadiately rushes to reassure her. Then 'But I'd like that too. To be your roommate, I mean.'

And they smile shyly at one another for a moment, before Barbara jumps up suddenly and retrives the tray from where she had set it on the chest of drawers.

'Goodness, I nearly forgot about the cocoa, it'll be cold, nearly! You do drink cocoa, don't you? I thought you might want a hot drink when you came in. Or-' she peers doubtlfully at the mugs 'a warm drink, at least'

'I love cocoa' Delia reaches out to accept her mug gratefully 'And it's probably a good thing it's not hot, I always drink mine too fast and burn my tongue. Impatient, Mam says I am-'

She breaks off suddenly- the reference to her mother has taken her by surprise and it stung, just a little.

Barbara is watching her face; Delia takes a sip of her cocoa to have something to do, and it's delicious, sweet and soothing. The warmth of the mug thaws her chilled fingers, the fact that it has been made to welcome her to this new, strange place is comforting.

'Do let me know if it's too sweet for you, won't you? Trixie says I put in enough sugar for three people into every cup….and she's probably right'

Delia has been thinking that it's the first time someone has put in the amount of sugar she likes without being told, but she settles with 'It's perfect, not too sweet at all. Thank you- for making it for me.'

'First nights are always a bit odd. I remember mine…' Barbara is blushing even as she laughs at the memory. 'I was sick as anything because Patsy and Trixie welcomed me with Cinzano, Cinzano mixed with some absolutely disgusting syrup Trixie had got from the clinic- and I didn't know then how little I can handle drink…I could barely walk, and I was talking the most awful rot'

Delia laughs too- she can imagine it, it isn't a surprise to her that Barbara isn't a drinker, she looks too innocent for anything stronger than Ginger Beer.

'Didn't you get into trouble- you must have had a terrible hangover the next day!'

'Oh but I did! Patsy was an absolute star, she made up something about food poisoning from some crisps I'd eaten earlier, and somehow everyone believed her'

'That's just like Pats- she's ever so good at thinking on her feet like that. She had a lie worked out all ready for if we ever got caught climbing up the drain pipe when we missed curfew, but she could've made one up on the spot too and it would've been just as good'

'What was it?'

Delia opens her mouth…..then closes it. Stops. The realisation is slow and burning, though surely she should be used to forgetting things by now. She can remember those early nursing days so clearly- why must this, of all things, be lost, perhaps forever?

Why can't she hold onto anything, why must she be so helpless, so _weak_?

'It's alright'

Barbara's voice is quiet and very, very gentle, but Delia can't quite meet her eyes. She'll never get used to this. Or worse, she'll think she's used to it- and then, like now, it'll hit her hard and she'll be left, like now, eyes burning and throat aching and humiliated.

'It doesn't matter'

It does matter, Delia wants to say, with a flash of anger- at herself more than at Barbara- it matters to me, and it would matter to you… but then she hears Barbara stand up and cross to sink down on Delia's bed next to her.

She doesn't try to hug her or take her hand or pat her, like people sometimes do (usually in a nervous way that half makes Delia want to bite their tentative hands)-she just sits, her side, her arm, her leg warm against Delia's- giving the support and reassurance she can't express properly out loud.

Delia breathes, shakily- she supposes it's no wonder, after everything today, that she's collapsing a little bit. When she relaxes enough to lean a little onto Barbara, she's comfortably stable.

Without changing her position, she digs a handkerchief from her pocket and nudges it against Delia's hand. It's crumpled, but clean. It smells of peppermint.

It smells of peppermint, and then Barbara pulls a paper bag out of the same pocket and offers it to her, and the mystery is solved: humbugs.

'I love humbugs'

Her voice is still a little trembly, but not too bad. Barbara doesn't seem to notice.

'So do I. Actually- I have a terrible weakness for sweets generally.'

'So do I. Pats says I'm worse than one of her cubs.'

She knows she's mentioning Patsy too much, probably- but after today, saying Patsy's name, conjuring up an image of her, is like a balm- it soothes her, comforts her- and she can't quite bring herself to worry much, in this quiet, peaceful bedroom with this quiet, peaceful girl.

'There's the most wonderful sweetshop, just a couple of streets away. Honestly, we're teribly lucky to be so close' She feels Barbara shift in position, turn her head to look at her- and she manages a smile, and Barbara smiles back. 'I'll show it to you tomorow, if you like.'

'Yes please.'

Delia falls asleep that night with the taste of peppermint still on her tongue (the empty bag crumpled and empty on the floor) and wakes to Patsy and Trixie knocking on their bedroom door, still in their pajamas and slightly tousled, full of excitement and indignation that they missed her arrival.

'You were alright, weren't you, last night?' Patsy asks, after Trixie, suddenly realising the time, gives a little shriek and hurries off to get dressed- it hasn't escaped her notice that Delia is here a day early.

Delia nods ' There was- but I'll tell you later, Pats. It was fine, really.'

'Really?'

'Yes' She smiles, and Patsy smiles back, reassured, risks, in the empty bedroom, taking her hand for a second. 'I had Barbara'.

Customers visiting the sweetshop in Poplar that day are extremely put out to learn that they are fresh out of jelly babies and sherbert lemons.


End file.
